one could see the ancient remains of an Indian pueblo and the four crumbling walls of an old adobe church. Beyond the open plain stood Devil’s Peak. The sun was red on the horizon when the earth gave way.
The last sight of the world Manuel and his animals saw was the alkaline soil and rocks of the ridge as the ridge gave way beneath his horse and mules. Laying twisted under the earth, his nostrils filled with dirt, Manuel felt the life leaving his body. “So close, my little ones,” he murmured. So very close, were his last thoughts as the land reclaimed a son.
Several hours later it rained, sealing the hard dry soil of the slope tightly over Manuel and his gold.
In Mexico, Manuels’s wife stoked the morning fire. The children ran around the front of the small adobe home waiting for the sound of their mother’s voice calling them in for beans and tortillas. Manuel’s wife walked and stood by the small lone window of the house and looked out upon the dry windswept earth that surrounded the poor house. Her heart was heavy and deep inside her breast she knew she would never see Manuel again. Slowly making the sign of the cross she bowed her head and prayed, Take him, dear God, for the love in my heart, he only did what he had to do.
The six men lost the trail after the rain. They had been in no hurry to chase after the crazy Mexican who robbed the mine. He could only ride out into the dry land and then turn back towards the river. Others had tried to rob the mine. Many had gotten away with the gold for awhile, but they were always caught. Caught and cornered in some dry dusty crevice of the earth. Cornered and shot, their bodies thrown over a saddle and brought back to town for all to see one does not rob the Ortiz mine. But with the rain they had lost the trail, and after two weeks along the river they did not find anyone who had seen the man with the mules.
But the men did not care — it was only a job. A dry hard lifeless job. “Lucky bastard,” one man spoke, turning his horse back toward the long ride to the gold mine, “lucky Mexican bastard. Six hundred pounds of gold — his … all his.”
The wind blew over the earth, moving the fine brown dust over all traces of Manuel. And the earth did not care, or feel, love or hate: it was only the earth, and for the land there is no memory.
But this is not the beginning.
BOOK ONE
THE INDIANS
The first Indians of this land were a community of people. They built their homes from rock and mud in rambling clusters. As families grew, more rooms were added to existing structures. They grew few crops but gathered from the land their food. The men were hunters hunting all animals from small birds and lizards to deer and elk. To them there was a god in everything that was, from the rocks and non-living things to all living creatures. They were a peaceful people not wishing war, but at the same time they were a practical people in that they elected men as warriors. The tribe was the center of life, each person in his own way was different but each was a integral part of the tribe. All worked for the common goal of the tribe. In the summer they wore few clothes, not feeling guilty in their nakedness and in the winter they wore hides and woven garments made from various plants of the region. They were a simple people accepting life as it unfolded around them and a superstitious people, believing in the dreams and visions of their medicine men. They were a people attuned to the earth, not taking more than they could use nor wishing for more than they needed. In their simplicity they were a well-structured society which moved through time with the seasons, accepting the good and the bad as the ways of the world and staying in tune with the earth and land around them.
CHAPTER 1
THE INDIAN — 1575 A.D.
Shining Moon sat beside the small cone-shaped cedar fire and looked closely at the large piece of black obsidian he held in his dark weathered hands. It had indeed been a magical day to find such a stone. He turned the approximately 8-inch stone in his fingers and smiled as the light from the fire danced across its dull black surface. Placing the stone gently on the ground he unrolled a deer hide piece of leather and looked at the tools that were exposed. Here were several hard wood chippers and various assorted pieces of iron ore and deer antler. With these was also a blunted wood hammer. Also in the wrap was a small bow and various rock and wood bits used to drill holes in objects. And in a small leather pouch was a handful of dirt given to him by Sleeping Bear.
One by one he picked up the pieces of hard rock, wood and deer antler and inspected them closely. He did not want to make any mistakes when he began to work on the obsidian. Not one chip would be wrong, not one missed blow with the hammer. Gritting his teeth lightly he chose a well-used antler tine. This would be the one. This antler would take the chips from the obsidian. This antler would form the obsidian into a spear point that would be far greater than any spear point every made by any member of the tribe. It must be perfect — it must shine like the stars and tell all of the love it held within itself.
Shining Moon lay the obsidian on the leather cloth and set the antler tine beside it. He tucked his feet underneath his buttocks and closed his eyes. Slowly with deliberation he removed all thoughts from his mind and in their place formed the picture of his love. He could see Flying Bird walking by a river. Her long black hair ran like the dark murky water of spring down her back and rested on the top of her buttocks. The elk hide dress she wore moved with the grace of her body and he could picture the ripeness of her breasts as they rubbed against the soft leather. In his mind he could see her black piercing eyes and the glitter of the turquoise earrings he had given her in the spring. They had snuck away from the watchful eyes of her mother and gone to the river. Shining Moon had been nervous and afraid to be alone with her. These were feelings he had never felt before. He was a warrior, protector of the tribe, supposed to be brave and strong. He would never forget how his hands trembled as he handed her the small turquoise earrings wrapped in the soft hide of a rabbit. What if she did not like them? What if he was rejected? It had taken him many weeks to approach the girl. Many weeks of building his strength, hiding his feelings. Many nights sitting beside his fire staring into the flames, trying to quell the beating of his heart or understand the feeling in his chest when he saw Flying Bird walk around the pueblo. There was no other woman like her. He heard the other men talk of her, laughing and wishing about her. About the other women he too would laugh, but when the men talked of her he felt anger swell up in his heart and a deep burn sweep across his chest. These feelings he hid from the others. But inside himself they lingered.
When Flying Bird had taken the rabbit fur in her small, long, delicate fingers and touched his hand, it had been like lightning sweeping up his arms. And when she giggled with happiness upon seeing the earrings and told him to put them into the holes in her ears, he felt the warm flow of passion sweep through his loins. In all time he would never forget this day. How the wind blew around them. How the river seemed to sing as they stood there. And the look of her back as she ran from him back to the camp unable to understand the feeling that swept over her or the yearning that crept into her upon being with Shining Moon.
As she scampered away he had felt full of life, full of the earth, and he went back to pueblo and taking his best pony he rode out into the vast emptiness around the pueblo. He kicked the horse and yelped and hollered to the sun and passing birds. Stopping only when the horse could run no more, he jumped from the frothing animal and stood tall and proud, raising his arms to the sun in praise and thankfulness.
After that Shining Moon would go around the pueblo being careful to be in spots where he could catch glimpses of the girl. Always trying to look preoccupied or busy. But the mother and the grandmother knew. He would catch their scornful glances at times, their eyes burning like daggers into his soul. But he did not know that at night around the fire the old women sat and talked amongst themselves about him, giggling and remembering their youth.
“He is a strong man, that Shining Moon,” Grandmother would say, just loud enough so that Flying
